The Girl in the Painting
by Miss Kisharoo
Summary: Wigtown Wanderers' Captain's entry for round 2 of the Quidditch Fanfiction League.


**Disclaimer: **Do you _think_ I'm J.K. Rowling? Seriously, would J.K. be floating around on writing about her own characters? …What a theory. Hm.

* * *

_Oh no, I see,  
__A spider web, it's tangled up with me,  
__And I lost my head,  
__The thought of all the stupid things I'd said  
_-Trouble by Coldplay

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**The Girl in the Painting**

* * *

I enjoy watching my brother as he walks about every day, going through his daily patterns. Abe wakes up, drinks his tea, scowls and complains, but then he'll go up to me and his face will brighten. He looks at me and smiles. It's a grim, sad smile. It has been sad since I was six. His eyes are blue just like our father's, even surrounded by the wrinkles that began to form on around our father's ever since that day so many years ago.

Days, weeks, months, years… they all pass so quickly. I can scarcely remember how long it's been now. The time passes so slowly here, where a part of me resides, and yet it still ticks by even without your consent, taking away those special moments that you want to hold on to forever and slowing down your nightmares. Time is a cruel thief, one that can never be detained of put into Azkaban. And yet I am still young on the outside, no matter how much I wish I could age, as well. I'm stuck appearing young and quite alike how I'd looked when I lost something of myself both emotionally…

…and _physically_.

After that fateful day, I can clearly recall feeling dirty and horrible. It was as though a plethora of pain and sadness had formed in me. The magic had done this, I told myself. The magic was a curse that could only hurt me.

Magic was _trouble_, so I decided to keep it inside and lock it up.

As quickly as that, it started. I thought that the problem would eventually be solved. I thought that everything would turn normal and it'd just be a bad dream. But it was like a bad dream… except I never woke up from it.

Everything kept getting worse. I ended up getting Daddy put into Azkaban all because of my magic, and the despair grew harder and colder within me. Every night, I cried, comforted by Mom and Abe… but Al was never there.

I think he blamed me as much as I blamed myself, and that was why he never came to comfort me. I had broken the family, taken the attention. Now he probably felt alone, so alone that he comforted himself with books and awards and praise.

I was tangling him into this mess and bringing them down with me. I felt helpless.

Looking back, I think that was why I had my first rage. I let it out like a child having a tantrum. In every definition of the word, I went insane. I was like a manic monster, an uncontrollable vessel of danger.

The room shook and explosions were left in my wake. I enjoyed everything around me, childishly hoping that Al would notice me and my pain. I was bloody bent that everything would be okay after that.

It wasn't, so I kept doing it over and over again, more and more as the darkness filled me up faster each time. It was a hopeless cycle, I realized – but I realized that too late, far too late.

It was too late for me to stop it. I was already practically insane and unable to control my power. I was a scared child, utterly lost in a depth of blackness. The only way that I can explain it is a dementer's kiss. But instead of taking away all of my happiness, it slowly but surely sucked away my sanity with merciless fervor.

Abe was so good to me during this time – so patient. He'd speak to me and tell me stories, soothing me with his beautiful magic which was so unlike mine. He made me eat when I tried to starve myself and die. He made me laugh even when I had sobbed for days straight. Abe took on the weight of filling in for two brothers.

Maybe that was why Abe's protection and care didn't stop me from doing _it_ again.

I don't remember how it happened, but I can clearly recall saying, in my maniacal tone: "Al hates me. He's hurting Abe. I want him to die."

I barely knew what I was saying or why, but the madness was growing within, eating through me as violently as a fiendfyre. I can remember a scream, mournful and low. My mother was suddenly down, her gaze cold and dead. That day, she breathed no more, and I lost another part of myself forever.

When Al returned, my past dream came true. He returned to me, actually looked straight at me, and enveloped me in a warm embrace. For the longest time, he talked to me and took care of me. That made me feel a numb sort of happiness that was enough to make the darkness become lighter and lighter.

But then a man came, a man with dark purposes and an even darker heart. Yes, he was a horrible man. I hated him, and I…

I can't continue to speak of my selfish ways. I can't.

This feeling… it's so strong.

Tell me, can paintings cry?

I… I remember that day, when I saw them fighting. I just wanted to help. I was sure that the man had done it, and I just wanted to protect those that I loved. I realize now that it was my purpose in life.

If anyone had to get hurt… I'm glad… I'm glad that it was _me_.


End file.
